Collision
by Crimson Bttrfly
Summary: First days never went smoothly for Leon S. Kennedy. A slightly different spin on a familiar story. RE4. Slight AU.
1. Collision

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Disclaimer: I do NOT own the rights to _Resident Evil_ nor do I own the rights to the characters associated with the franchise. **

**AN**: Slight AU I suppose.

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Collision

Leon Kennedy had come a long way from working counterfeit currency operations for the Secret Service. He had come a long way from working identity theft cases. He was now being given a _much_ greater job: To protect the daughter of the President of the United States.

Part of him was complemented to be assigned a subject to protect -- the ego was more than a little boosted, to say the least. The other part, however, realized this was an extremely delicate matter. It was a particularly sensitive time for the good ole U. S. A. Terror and hostility toward his homeland had become more than just "what-if" scenarios and fodder for the nightly news heads.

Leon, however, was not prepared for just how close danger lurked for his new charge…

- - - -

_3:30 A.M. _

_Washington, D.C._

The harsh noise of the telephone reverberated through his sleep, waking him. In a groggy haze, Leon clumsily reached for the telephone, knocking it off of its base. The receiver fell making a soft "thud" against the berber carpet. Leon's eyes were slowly beginning to dark adapt to the hues of dark blues and blacks veiling his small studio apartment. It took him a few minutes to locate the receiver in the darkness, and he doubted he would have ever found it at all if it had not been for the sound of a strong female voice emanating from the phone.

"Leon, are you there?" and a few muffled utterances was all he could make out as he pulled the receiver up by the cord and caught the phone by its handle.

"Yeah, I'm here," his voice was thick and throaty.

"This is Agent Hunnigan."

"Uh-ugh," he hummed, trying to sound vaguely interested in whatever the stranger was saying. Leon leaned into the muted illumination radiating from the digital clock on the nightstand. He readjusted the clock to see what time it was.

'3:41 in the morning?' A brow shot up at the thought. He had _just_ been given the duty to protect the First Family. He had yet to start his job proper, so what in the _hell_ could they be yapping at him about already?

"What's wrong?" his voice became more coherent and stern.

"There's a plane prepped for you."

"And where am I _going_?"

"Spain. The last reported sighting of Miss Ashley Graham was in a rural location of Spain."

"Wha -?" Leon had hardly the chance to get the word out of his mouth when the female agent cut him off.

"The President's daughter is assumed to have been kidnapped. You will be given further details when you reach the airport."

Leon could not believe his ears as he pulled the phone from his ear and glanced down at the receiver in shock. Had he yet to wake up? Was this all just a _bad_ dream?

"Oh, and, Mr. Kennedy?"

Leon blinked before instincts kicked in and he put the receiver back up to his right ear. "Yeah? Still here."

"Good luck on your first day." _Click._

Leon sat up on the bed; the sheets were tightly pulled against him. He slumped forward -- one hand in his hair, the other clutching the red phone. He stared into the receiver for what felt like an eternity as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

"The President's daughter has been kidnapped?" he muttered to himself in disbelief. The day couldn't get _much_ worse, he thought to himself… Leon was about to find out just how wrong he was…

- - - -

_3 days prior…_

"Wesker," came the sultry voice, "you _must_ be kidding me? Are you sending me out on another 'training' exercise?" The man's paranoia never ceased to amaze Ada Wong; although, she couldn't deny that it _was_ well placed…

"Very good, Ada. You're the first agent to who has made it to the contact point. I'm impressed."

He was a good liar, she thought to herself as a half grin drew the right corner of her mouth upwards. Damn good thing that the lens on the communicator was on the fritz because she doubted her employer would enjoy seeing the expression she was wearing.

"What set you off to the fact that it was a training excursion, Ada?"

"Deadly nightshade? You sent me all the way to Belize and into some sort of tribal trap in order to collect some plant that grows in my backyard?" She sounded incensed.

"That plant isn't as common to come by as you might think, Ada. Consider it a vacation."

Ada lifted a well defined brow. She was far from _amused_ by his little antics.

"A mini vacation," he quickly elaborated.

"Did you get the email I sent you regarding the fellow in Spain?"

"I did." The response was sharp and curt.

'The lead must be hot,' she mused slyly.

"Don't worry, though, Ada. I'm sure Krauser can handle it just fine."

Heat surged through her veins. Her muscles tightened, and her eyes widened as those sentiments replayed in her mind. She quickly brushed off her anguish and inhaled deeply. "Very well then, Wesker."

He responded with a small chuckle before cutting the connection.

- - - -

_4:10 A. M._

_Washington, D.C._

Leon was intercepted by fellow Secret Service agents as he stepped into the lobby of his apartment building. His brows shot up as he scanned the men. They were all dressed in pedestrian garb, but he knew what they were. A mere tourist could tell by the cold demeanors and strong jaw lines that these guys weren't your average D. C. denizen.

"Hello, guys," he greeted in a hushed voice, sliding deeper inside his bomber jacket. None of the men spoke a word, and only one of them escorted Leon to the four door sedan parked outside the glass doors.

"I take it you're not Hunnigan," he kidded as the two stepped into the biting night air. The man shot him a stern glare as he yanked the driver's door open. Shaking his head in wry amusement, Leon climbed into the passenger's seat.

"Has Hunnigan already contacted you with the relevant information?"

"Something like that."

"Any questions?"

"What happened?"

"There isn't much I can divulge to you. Information is scarce, and we are unsure of whom to trust."

"You can trust me," Leon began but was quickly interrupted.

"We have already assessed your role in all of this, Mr. Kennedy. That is why you were selected to go solo on this mission. The current consensus is that Miss Graham's kidnapping was an inside job. The President feels you have nothing to gain in all of this, and has specifically asked for you to canvas the area in search of Miss Graham."

Leon's jaw went slack and his eyes widened. "Alone?" he muttered, unbelieving. If it were _his_ daughter who had been kidnapped, a fucking _team_ of the scariest agents he could find would have been assembled to scour Europe for her. He would not have sent just one man in a bomber jacket.

"News of the First Daughter's abduction has yet to be leaked to the press and we intend on keeping it that way. In order to maintain the utmost secrecy, the President felt that it would be wise to send only man where the abductors would be expecting an army. He was very impressed with your body of work, especially the incident that occurred six years ago."

Leon grimaced at the thought. 1998 was a _bad_ year. 2004 wasn't looking much better from where he was standing.

"What kind of equipment will I be given to work with?"

"Standard issue."

Leon's body fell limp with disappointment. He was supposed to save the President's daughter with little more than a PDA and his SIG P226? This all had a familiar feeling…

_First days were a bitch_.

- - - -

_5:00 A.M._

_Belarus _

Ada Wong slid effortlessly out of the warmth of the shower and reached for her silk red and black robe. Slowly she eased into the robe, enjoying the sensation of feeling the soft material caress her skin. The simple pleasure of feeling silk against skin was interrupted by a hard knock on the door.

Ada quickly wrapped and tied the robe as she navigated her way through the cramped hotel room. With a strong purposeful tug at the knob, she yanked the door back on its hinges. "Yes?" her voice carried an air of forward impatience.

"Ms. Wong?" The man began in broken English, "Your luggage." He pushed a single case across the hotel room's threshold.

"What?" her voice edged on the verge of anger. "I had more than one bag!"

The boy, who could not have been more than 18, gave an apologizing stare before trying to slowly slink out of the room. "This was all they could recover," he managed.

A hand was running through her short black hair as she glanced down at the singular suitcase. The _thing_ the boy had brought her did not even resemble any of the cases that she had actually packed. Coming to terms with the dilemma, Ada quickly shoved a few dollars at the boy to get rid of him, and slammed the door. Within a few minutes she had successfully ripped through the suitcase's lock and flung up the top of the case.

A brow lifted upon seeing what was held in the case. Ada's thin fingers instinctively apprehended the folded sheet of paper laying atop of a red gown and stilettos.

"_There is a helicopter waiting for you at Gate 13A going to Spain. _

_Wear this._

_- Wesker"_

As she unfurled the dress a small grin turned the corners of her lips upward.

Under the gown was a fresh supply of armaments . . .


	2. Convenient Weapons

Convenient Weapons

He came armed with a badge, a picture of Ashley, a combat knife, and his trusty handgun. In his back pocket he had his PDA, otherwise fondly referred to as the "cow bell." All in all, they were pretty meager tools considering the job at hand. Despite his protests for more artillery, Leon had to admit walking into a rural village armed to the teeth _would_ have seemed a little out of place…

The idle Spanish chatter coming from the front seats of the car caught Leon's attention. Averting his eyes from his diluted reflection in the window, he cocked his head to the side. He had tried to brush up on his Spanish on the flight over, but his efforts had proven to be futile. He had no idea what his escorts were saying; although, he had a nagging feeling the two cops were talking about _him_.

The cop occupying the front passenger seat, Andres Alvarez, shifted his weight slightly before giving Leon a shifty over-the-shoulder glance. "What are you here for, Cowboy? You can tell us," he tried in thick sing-songy attempt to sound sympathetic.

Leon's eyes trailed to the scenery careening by the window. If possible the landscape was less pleasant than the company. Most of the trees were barren, and the graying grass was smothered by the dead leaves. 'Real ambient,' Leon thought sardonically. October had never been a particularly _great_ month for him now that he thought about it.

Stirring reflexively upon feeling the heat of Spanish eyes boring into him, Leon shot a dodgy stare in the direction of his companions. Alvarez had turned slightly in his seat to look at him, anticipating the answer to his question. The driver, Lucio Martinez, was also eyeing the American in the rearview mirror.

"You know why I'm here."

"To look for some missing girl?" Alvarez mocked, unconvinced. "Must be some _girl_ to warrant two policia as escorts."

'Two _worthless_ police escorts,' Leon was tempted to murmur; instead, he rolled his eyes, annoyed.

Martinez broke his silence with an abrasive chuckle. "No. She can't be worth much considering they only sent _one_ American."

Upon hearing the cop's sentiments, a half smile slowly thinned Leon's lips. 'The suits were right about one thing: No one in their right mind would believe that the President sent one man to rescue his daughter…'

"You know, you're right," Leon replied, knowingly.

The two cops exchanged rueful stares before reverting back to their native tongue. With a know-it-all smile plastered to his face, Leon sank into the back of his seat.

"Pull over. I have to take a piss," Alvarez ordered gruffly.

Martinez acquiesced, but not before shooting his partner a nasty glare. He roughly pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and stopped the car.

Rolling his eyes, Leon breathed an audible sigh of discontent. He could not _even_ believe _this_. Just where in the _hell_ had they sent him? He could imagine the fun he was going to have writing up this report. That is, if he ever managed to return stateside. At the rate this mission was going, he might need to set up a permanent residence…

Leon watched as Alvarez got out of the car and walked a few paces into the brush. Pursing his lips, he turned his piercing gaze skyward. It looked like it was going to rain. 'Perfect,' he thought to himself. 'I get stuck in the rain with the Shoot Yourself in the Head gang.' He shook his head at the thought and glanced back over at Alvarez who spooked at something in the woods. Narrowing his eyes, Leon scanned the brush. 'Nothing.'

Glancing around nervously, Alvarez zipped his trousers. He quickly trotted back to the car, anxiously wringing his hands.

Martinez gave a hearty chuckle the moment his partner opened the passenger side door. "Whatcha see?"

"Que? Nada. Just drive." Trying to swallow his fear, Alvarez waved him onward.

The car shook violently as he pulled back onto the asphalt. The few minutes it took for the car to reach the bridge leading to the quiet farming town of Pueblo felt like an eternity. After crossing the bridge, Martinez drove a few meters before stopping the car dead. He glanced into the rearview mirror at Leon. "Pueblo is a few meters away. I believe that is where the girl in your picture was last reported."

Lean raised his brows, awaiting the man to elaborate. Reading the American's body language, Martinez laughed in reply. "This is where you ride into the sunset to save the senorita, Cowboy."

"And you two?"

"There is no place to park the car, and I wouldn't want to get any unnecessary parking tickets."

"Parking tickets?" Leon mocked, not even believing he had just heard those words actually coming from somebody's mouth. "What about you?" he asked, turning his attention to Alvarez.

"Someone has to protect the car from thieves."

"Thieves?" He shook his head as he pulled back on the door handle and pushed the car door open. "Where did they find these guys?" he muttered acrimoniously under his breath before slamming the door shut.

Alvarez rolled down his window. "What?" he called after the American.

Leon glanced over his shoulder. "Good luck _protecting_ the car."

Leon took a few strides forward when he heard the chirp of his PDA. He sighed before reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. "Leon S. Kennedy here," he reported flipping on the device.

Instantaneously, the lens realigned and an image of a young 20-something year old woman appeared on the screen. She was attractive in a stern militant sort of way. A pair of thin glasses sat high on the bridge of her nose and her brown hair was tightly pulled back into a bun. "Ingrid Hunnigan reporting. I'll be providing you with intelligence for this mission."

A boyish smile parted his lips. "I see the video-feed is finally working."

"We're still working on the 5 second delay," she responded stoically.

"For some reason I expected you to be older…"

Hunnigan looked far from amused. "My age is irrelevant to this mission, Agent Kennedy."

His repressed the urge to smile wide at her retort. "Any new information?"

"We believe Miss Graham has been abducted by some sort of cultist group, so, watch yourself, Kennedy."

"Has any motive been discerned?"

"Not as of yet. I'll buzz you once I get more information. In the meantime, I'll send you a digital map of the surrounding area. Hunnigan out."

As soon as the LCD blackened an hour glass appeared on the screen indicating that he was receiving the message. A few seconds elapsed before the map was accessible. Leon quickly selected the newly downloaded information and committed it to memory.

Returning the PDA to his back pocket, Leon glanced behind him. The cops were still watching him suspiciously. Forcing a smile, he gave a small wave. "Parking tickets…" he spat in disbelief as he began his way down the dirt path leading to the village.

The map had indicated that the town was approximately a kilometer from the bridge Leon thought to himself as he surveyed the decaying woods. Besides the caws of a few black crows sitting perched on a nearby birch, the trail was disturbingly quiet. A few meters down a slope Leon spotted a desolate log cabin to his left. He slowed his cadence and cocked his head to the side as he inspected the house. He would have taken it for being deserted if he had not detected some movement in the window.

'Curtains, maybe?' he thought to himself. 'No. No curtains.' He slowed to a stop in front of the small fence lining the perimeter of the cabin. Movement in his periphery caught his attention, and his gaze fell upon the door of the cabin. It was open.

Apprehension began to swell in the pit of his stomach. 'Odd,' he thought warily. His muscles locked and his blood ran cold. He rolled his tightened shoulders back before walking up the path to the house. He stealthily maneuvered the steps before stopping short at the threshold of the cabin. Leon was no stranger to legwork; reconnaissance, especially, required a lot of Q and A, but he had a _bad_ feeling about the occupants of this particular house. In fact, he had a bad feeling about this whole mission.

Instinctively patting the pistol resting in his shoulder holster, Leon reached across the threshold to knock on the door. "Hello? Err, ciao? No, no, that's goodbye," he corrected himself. "Hola?" He cringed at the sound of his voice.

"Ugh," a male voice responded.

Leon stretched his neck as he glanced inside the house before taking a few steps inside. Rounding the corner leading from the entry to the open dining area and den, Leon hit a squeaky board. His muscles tightened and his gaze fell to the ground. Detecting movement in his peripheral vision, Leon glanced up to see a man tending to the fire crackling inside the fireplace. The man was short with a stocky build. His white shirt was stained with dirt and sweat probably from working a long day in the village.

Leon grimaced as he tried to remove his left foot from the squeaky board, and stepped forward. "Excuse me, sir?" he began in a soft, friendly voice. "Sir?" he repeated, this time a little louder and with more force.

The man nimbly spun around on his heels and began muttering something unintelligible in Spanish. Leon reached into his bomber jacket and withdrew a picture of Ashley Graham. "Have you seen this girl? Her name is Ashley." The man gave a passing glance at the photo before growing visibly agitated.

'This was a _bad_ idea,' Leon thought to himself, noticing the man's body language become increasingly more aggressive.

"Lo siento, senor," Leon apologized as began to slowly inched away from the man.

A wave of recognition overtook the man's features and he began pointing at Leon. "Tu! Tu!" The villager quickly grabbed the axe next to the fireplace and began nearing Leon slowly. The villager's eyes became dead and lifeless, and his movements became more and more erratic with each footfall.

Leon's eyes widened as he fought back a feeling of déjà vu. "Okay, freeze," he ordered, drawing his gun. "I said freeze!" his voice became more authoritarian as the man continued toward him. "I _said_ freeze!"

The man lunged at him with surprising speed, but Leon's reflexes proved to be quicker. He swiftly sidestepped before the blade made contact. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Leon relied on pure instinct and years of training as he pulled back on the trigger, hitting the man squarely in the head. The villager staggered backwards a few steps, clutching at his face before steadying himself on a nearby chair.

"Impossible," Leon gasped in disbelief. 'He _should_ be dead or incapacitated at the very least!'

The man took a shaky step forward and readied his axe. Quickly, Leon pulled the trigger again, landing the man dead at his feet.

Lowering his gun, Leon glanced down at the Spaniard. The man's veins began to bulge and tremble underneath his waxy skin before disappearing completely.

"What the hell?" Leon muttered to himself.

Leon kneeled to get a closer inspection. Hesitantly, he pressed two rigid fingers against the villager's neck to take his pulse. 'Dead.'

Leon grimaced, noticing that the man's body was already showing signs of bloating and rigor-mortis . "Impossible." His brows furrowed. "Was he already…" Leon was suddenly interrupted by the beeping of his PDA.

"Leon here."

"I've noticed that you've been standing static for a while. Is everything alright?" Hunnigan asked.

Leon shook his head. "There was a hostile villager. I had no other choice but to disable him…"

Hunnigan gave a nod of her head. "Take whatever means necessary to complete the mission, Kennedy."

He straightened and his expression tightened. "Affirmati…" he began but his voice was quickly drowned out by the high pitch squeal of tires spinning.

"What's going on?" Hunnigan barked.

Leon lowered the PDA and sprinted to look out the window. A truck was peeling out of the makeshift driveway and was beginning down the dirt road toward the parked police car. Within a few seconds, Leon could hear the faint echoes of gunfire followed by the familiar sound of screeching that only metal against metal can make.

"Shit," Leon spat.

"Kennedy!" Hunnigan's voice shrieked from the receiver of his PDA. "What's going on?" she exclaimed.

Leon glanced back down at the communicator. "I cannot confirm. It seems the locals aren't taking too kindly to any sort of foreign presence, the policia included."

Hunnigan's icy expression dissipated into worriment. "Then find Miss Graham quickly," she ordered before signing off.

Leon replaced the PDA and resumed a defensive posture. He slowly inched his way out of the cabin. The moment he reached the door he extended his arms, aiming his gun to the right and then to the left. Upon observing that all was clear, he made haste toward the cop car.

Once he reached the area where the car had once been parked, he was met with skid marks leading to the lake. "So much for protecting the car," he noted upon observing both the truck and sedan sinking further into the watery depths below.

Leon turned, shoulders sloped and gun aimed downwards. "Holy shit!" he spat.

By the grace of luck, he ducked just in time to avoid the chokehold of another local. He quickly back-stepped before pressing the barrel of his gun against the deranged man's head. Only a single bullet was needed to permanently down the villager.

Exhaling deeply, Leon bent slightly at the waist. "What the hell is going on here?"

Surveying the area one last time just in case he had inadvertently missed a threat, Leon began jogging toward the village. He could _only_ imagine the terror the President's daughter had endured. Leon was sure he had yet to scratch the surface of the hell that plagued this rural area, and _he_ was unprepared to fight many of these locals with the meager weaponry he had on his person. A 20 year old Harvard junior did not stand a chance alone against this – whatever _this _was…

Spotting a marker, Leon paused. It was a red post with skulls dangling from it. "_Great_." His jaws tightened as he probed the area. 4 meters from his position on the dirt road, Leon spotted a round metallic object. "Hugh? A bear trap?" He shook his head and made a mental note not to stray far from the path before jogging forward, nearly running neck-first into a thin wire.

Snapping his head back so as not to trip the wire, Leon panned the area. "What the hell?" His eyes followed the wire, seeing it terminated at a small white and red box. "Shit!"

Slowly, he began to back away from the wire. Taking a few steps sideways, he found a clearing and jogged forward. A loud beep sounding from his communicator triggered a panicked step forward before he realized where the noise was coming from.

"Leon," he answered in a ragged voice.

"How are you?"

"I could really use a few more boxes of ammo and a HK VP70. Any more info on the cult?"

"Apparently, this group calls itself 'the Illuminati'. They believe they derive their power from the Earth. How? We're not quite clear on -- something to do with insects."

"Insects? Like scarabs?"

"We're not quite clear on the specifics, yet."

"Anything on Ashley's location?"

"No such luck."

"Thanks. Leon out," he sighed, cutting the connection. "Come on, Ashley, you gotta hold out just a little longer," he said picking up the pace.

Rounding a bend, Leon quickly made a downwards transition and hid himself behind a tree. The little village of Pueblo was active with residents going about their daily chores. Leon fished around in his bomber jacket until he felt the cold course metal of his binoculars. Peering from behind the tree, he zoomed in on the controlled fire burning in the center of town.

Pangs of icy horror pelted his heart, for in the middle of the fire was Alvarez, hanging by a hook which had been impaled through his chest. "Christ!"

Feeling his hands go cold and numb, he withdrew the binoculars and pursed his lips. Leon bowed his head and inhaled a few deep breaths. Just how in the world was he going to proceed without being spotted?

He shook his head and replaced the binoculars. He had seen enough…

Carefully, he stirred from behind the tree, but his attempt at stealth was futile. He quickly lost his footing and slipped on a branch causing the limb to snap. A loud crackle echoed throughout the woods, sending the nearby crows into a frenzy of flapping wings and cawing.

"Dammit!" Leon grunted through clenched teeth. His eyes immediately locked onto the now alerted villagers who were screaming and pointing in his direction. Deciding that making a run for it was currently his only option for survival, he quickly took a left and sprinted forward only to be met by an angry mob of farmers.

Leon raised his gun and took a few conservative shots, hitting two men in the face, sending them writhing in pain. Their obvious distress provided enough of a distraction for the other villagers, allowing enough time for him to duck into a nearby house.

Thinking quick on his feet, Leon locked the door and shoved a mahogany dresser in front of the door before making haste up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. The moment he reached the landing he was met with a crazed farmer holding a shotgun aimed at him.

Quickly shooting the man's feet out from under him, Leon fired two more shots into the man's head, killing him. Alerted to the sounds of villagers trying to bang down the cabin's door, Leon pried the firmly clasped shotgun from the dead farmer's cold fingers.

Panning the area for ammo, Leon's frantic gaze fell on a large glass cabinet which stored an assortment of rifles and boxes of bullets. With swift ease, he used the end of the shotgun to shatter the glass barrier and rummaged through the boxes of ammo. Feeling his heart jump upon hearing wood crack and break, Leon's numb fingers fumbled to reload the shotgun. The unexpected sound of the window panes shattering triggered a startle reflex and a wild bullet was sent screaming through the air into the face of an incoming village woman. The woman was attempting to enter the cabin through the broken window. The impact of the shell caused her to go flying backwards to the ground, sending her to a brutal death.

"How in the hell are they scaling the house?" he asked, sprinting to the window. "Isn't that rich? Ladders," he muttered bitterly as he thrust the ladder downwards, sending another villager to his doom.

The ladder was now the least of Leon's problems as he heard villagers beginning their ascent up the creaky steps of the cabin. Leon gritted his teeth before bracing his back against a wooden wall.

The first farmer up the stairs was met with a shell to the head. The man fell into the deluge of incoming villagers causing a domino effect as six other villagers staggered backwards down the stairs. Another window shattered, sending glass spraying against Leon's jacket and jeans. Clenching his jaws, he quickly ran over to the window and knocked the new ladder down, sending a trail of farm men and women back down to the ground. However, just as Leon did this, he failed to react in time to a villager who had managed to maneuver his way up the stairs without falling. The farmer held Leon fast in a stranglehold.

"Agh," Leon gasped as he struggled against the inhume strength of the crazed man. It was then that Leon got a good look into the man's eyes – they were bright red and glassy. The villager's grasp was cold, and he reeked of death.

Leon lost his grasp on the shotgun as the man began to shake him violently. Sure he was going to be strangled to death, Leon tried with all his might to break free. And then, oddly, the man released him; his red eyes darkened and he turned back towards the stairs.

"What?" Leon gasped, grabbing his neck and looking up.

The resounding of church bells could be heard in the distance. The bells seemed to cast a spell of complacency upon the throng of once crazed farmers. Their expressions grew peaceful as they dropped their pitchforks, hammers, and axes and began to collectively migrate in the direction of the church. It was almost as if the pied piper had entered the village to pacify and lead the villagers away from their murderous rampage.

Leon's breathing was becoming more stabilized as he watched the residents file out of the cabin and into the streets. He stood and leaned out of the window to watch them enter the church. Unbelieving of what had just occurred, Leon blinked and shook his head. "I'm glad killing me ranks just slightly below midday mass."

Backing away from the window, Leon bumped into a small table, successfully knocking a pile of papers on the floor. He probably would have discarded the mess if he had not noticed a pile of slick black and white photos of himself slide across the floor.

"Huh?" He furrowed his brows as he bent to collect the photos. They were all candid photos of him wandering about D.C. Attached to, presumably, what was the first photo was what appeared to be memo written in Spanish. Leon withdrew his PDA and snapped a picture of the memo. One click of a button and the picture was sent it to Hunnigan for translation.

Leon pocketed the photos and memo before going to rummage through the ammo supply. He took only what he could carry, which, admittedly, was not much. He had barely stepped a foot outside the door before Hunnigan had sent him the rough translation:

"_Alert Order:_

_It has been reported that the U. S. government has sent an agent to search for the captive. _

_If you see anyone suspicious entering the village, annihilate them._

_The captive is currently stationed in a farmhouse beyond Pueblo._

_She will be moved to a more secure location in the Valley when it has been prepared. _

_Stop at nothing to disable the agent._

_-- Bitores Mendez" _

Taking a quick glance at his map, Leon made his way out of Pueblo…


	3. Amigo

Amigo

"Kennedy! Where did you find that note?" Hunnigan's voice sounded like it had heightened three octaves.

"Long story. Needless to say, I 'bumped' into the memo and some pictures of myself."

"So, it's definitely an insider?" she mused more so to herself than to Leon. "Have you ascertained who this Mendez person is?"

"No idea. Judging by the memo, I guess he's the chief around here. But, I haven't run into him if that's what you mean."

Hunnigan pursed her lips together in a futile attempt at fighting back a sigh. "Are you outside of Pueblo?"

"Yeah, but just barely."

"Contact me if you manage to locate the subject. Hunnigan out."

Leon watched as the screen darkened before shutting the communicator off and stuffing it back into his pocket. "A farmhouse, huh? _Great_. I should have no problem finding one of _those _around _here!_" Scanning the area, he heaved a sigh of exasperation and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"Where to go?" he muttered under his breath as he slowly began down the dirt road. His blue eyes darted to and fro as he tried to determine the best plan of action. Outside of the hellish Pueblo was a small barn with a large farmhouse perched high on a hill.

"I suppose that farmhouse is just as good as any," Leon sighed as he neared a small storage shed.

The sounds of heaving and grunting associated with hard labor alerted Leon to the presence of others. He quickly ducked inside the storage shed. Drawing himself deep into the shadows of the small shed, Leon peered through the cracks between a few weathered boards. Directly in front of him was what appeared to be a small hay barn. To his left was a small barn for the cattle complete with crossties and a wash stall. He observed two farmhands attending to their chores.

Leon's lips drew into a line as his eyes roamed the area, searching for a possible escape route which would result in him _not_ being detected. Noticing the two farmhands move further in the distance, Leon took a firm hold of his newly acquired shotgun and withdrew from the shadows. Emerging from the small food shed, he picked up a jog. With precise movements and agility, Leon took the left path toward the hay barn. Once he had reached the edifice, he quickly paused, bracing his back against the wooden exterior. Taking small deliberate sidesteps, Leon inched to the corner of the wall where he panned the surroundings.

'Only a few meters and I'm in the clear,' he thought to himself, eyeing the farmhand who had disappeared behind the barn. The worker could not have been more than 16 years old, yet there was something wrong with the kid. His motions were stiff and shaky, and his skin was waxy and gray.

Leon narrowed his eyes as he watched the kid pause to push up his straw hat and wipe his brow. 'Something is not right with these people,' he mused as he readjusted his grip on the shotgun. 'They all look like they're ill…' He brushed the thought away as he eyed the path directly in front of the worker – the very path he needed to travel in order to get to the farmhouse…

Leon bit the inside of his cheek and his jaws tightened. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to reach the farmhouse undetected with that kid there. What could he do? 'A distraction?' Leon thought to himself. 'What could I possibly use as a diversion?'

A survey of the area led Leon to fixate on a horse tied under a rickety makeshift shelter to his left. Leon made a run for the horse. After having made certain that his actions had gone undetected, Leon quickly unfastened the ties from the sides of the horse's halter. The horse quickly bolted forward and trotted into the open hay barn. This made for a perfect distraction as the young farmhand was forced to chase the horse down to stop it from gorging on the hay. Leon took this opportunity to make a sprint toward the path leading to the house. His efforts, however, were abruptly cut short when a small fat worker noticed his movements through a window and began shouting and pointing.

'Dammit!' Leon's thoughts screamed as he made a quick 180 turn to see who had spotted him. The man who had apparently been working inside the hay barn quickly shattered the glass of the window with the blunt end of his pitchfork and began climbing out of the window. His cries had also alerted both the young farmhand and another worker who had been feeding the cattle.

Feeling his blood run icy and his heart skip a beat, Leon fought through the tension and frantically aimed the shotgun. Preparing for the recoil, he reeled back on the trigger sending a shell screaming through the air. The shell crashed into the flesh and bone of the farmer's forehead. The man went flying back into the window.

Leon quickly reloaded and fixed his aim on the kid this time. Figuring the young farmhand was far enough away, Leon lowered his weapon and decided to make a run for it. The young worker growled and barked out a few Spanish phrases as he followed close on Leon's heels. Regretting that he had not put the kid out of his misery, Leon barely made it to the front door of the farmhouse before the kid had caught up with him.

With lightening fast reflexes, Leon kicked open the wooden door and slammed it in the kid's face before bolting the lock and grabbing a chair to brace the doorhandle. Leon was sure that this would not hold the door for long but it would buy him a few moments.

Glancing around the house, Leon breathed in a few breaths of musky air before jogging down the hall on the left. He was quickly stopped by one the house's occupants, who responded to Leon by reaching out to grab him by the throat.

"Shit!" Leon spat as he dodged the attack and ran the back of his shotgun into the man's side, causing him to stumble forward into a wall. Leon quickly kicked the disoriented man to the ground before rushing further into the room on the right, slamming the door shut behind him. Leon shoved an empty bookcase in front of the door before he turned to look the room over. As he did so, he discovered a secret passageway in the space where the bookcase had once been. There was little time to relish the moment, and Leon pressed on into the corridor.

"Ashley?" he called upon stepping into the hidden room.

At first glance the room appeared empty. There were only a few scattered piles of books, a table circled by four chairs, and an armoire. "Ashley?" he called again, turning to observe his surroundings.

Leon was half prepared to leave the room but movement in his peripheral vision stopped him cold. Instinctively, he turned to face the direction of the movement. 'The wardrobe?' he questioned as he stalked forward.

"Ashley?" He cautiously reached for the knob of the wardrobe. He readied the shotgun and pulled the doors open. Immediately, a body spilled onto the wooden floor. Leon hesitantly backed up before realizing that the bound man was still alive.

The stranger tried to speak, but his attempts were muffled by the tape plastered against his lips. Leon lowered the shotgun and knelt down. A swift yank was all that was needed to remove the tape.

"Hey! That was a bit rough!" the man yelped in a thick Spanish accent.

Leon shot him a discriminating stare before withdrawing his combat knife. The Spaniard was clearly alarmed by this and was beginning to protest. Leon ignored the man's ramblings, shoving the Spaniard over on his side as he began working on the binds.

"You," the strange man began apprehensively, "you're _normal_, right? You aren't like the others?"

"No," Leon responded sternly. "And you?"

Upon feeling his wrists and ankles free from the burning grip of the rope, the Spaniard let out a sigh of relief. "No," he responded, pulling himself into a relaxed sitting position. He heaved an anxious breath, relieved to be free and out of the armoire. "I really could use a smoke."

"I've got some gum," Leon noted off-handedly.

The stranger readied his mouth for speech but was quickly interrupted by a crash sounding from the adjoining room. Within seconds, a very tall stocky man wearing a torn duster stomped into the room escorted by two armed lackeys.

"_Damn_ _it_," the Spaniard muttered. "The chief…"

"What?" Leon glanced over at the Spaniard questionly.

"The village chief, Bitores Mendez," he whispered in reply.

Recognition lit Leon's eyes as he reached behind him to apprehend his shotgun. Steadying his aim, he managed to get one shot on Mendez before the chief had reached over and grabbed the shotgun. Leon held the weapon fast but his strength was no match for his opponent. Mendez shook the shotgun, effortlessly flinging Leon into the mysterious Spaniard and into the armoire behind them.

Fighting to remain conscious, Leon lifted his head from the dusty floorboards. He managed to get one last good look at Mendez before sliding into darkness…


	4. Sleep to Dream

Sleep to Dream

Flashes of light consumed his vision – bright white light. It was the same dream; the dream he had being dreaming for the past 6 years. The worst part of it was that Leon knew it was a dream, yet he could not resist. Perhaps he was truly masochistic. Perhaps he enjoyed feeling the familiar pangs of despair, pain, and loss that he had endured that fateful night in Raccoon City.

Leon had long searched for the answer to why he was still, after all of these years, haunted by the same dream. When he had been contacted by the U. S. government after the outbreak, he had gone through extensive psychological testing. At the time, however, the nightmares were a new occurrence and he was reassured that they would go away. They were wrong. The dreams never went away. They provided a constant reminder of what had happened, and he relived the traumatic events every single night. The old maxim was true: There really was no rest for the weary.

In the beginning, Leon tried to escape the nightly terrors by using stimulants to keep awake. It was not long before his self-induced insomnia began to take a toll on him. His complexion had grown ashen and his face had become haggard. His eyes were no longer bright and alert; they had become dull, listless, and bloodshot. Looking ragged, however, was the least of Leon's problems. He had accepted the government's deal and had taken up employment at their behest.

At first, he thought the higher-ups _wanted_ him dead, and perhaps they did, and maybe he, too, didn't mind if he came back alive or dead. Some of the scrapes he managed to get himself into, however, required a great amount of skill and strategy in order to get out alive with all limbs intact. Sleep deprivation was not a great ingredient to throw into the mix of bullets, ricochet, and espionage. Being tired and lax got men put six feet under in his line of work. Leon's brush with death was inevitable at the rate he was going. The wakeup call came when he was working an identity theft case that got particularly nasty. Exhaustion had kicked in and he was seeing double before he felt pangs of nausea and passed out. When he woke, he found himself in the bleached surroundings of a hospital, connected to an IV and various monitoring devices.

The moment he was able to walk out of the hospital, he was immediately sent to a psychologist for counseling. Standard procedure he was told. If an agent was shot in the line of duty, he or she was required to be evaluated by a clinician. Leon was not too hot on the idea of seeing another shrink and it showed. The psychologist was unconvinced that he was showing signs of improvement and believed that he was still experiencing symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder due to the incident in Raccoon City. During this time, Leon's supply of pain-killers, which had worked to repress REM sleep and thus providing him a refuge from the nightmares, had gone dry. Tormented and tempted to return to his former abuse of stimulants, he finally confided his dilemma to the psychologist. A few sessions later, he was given a clean bill of mental health, and a new lease on life…

Somewhere along the way, Leon realized that he could no longer run from his past, even if that meant experiencing _that_ night again and again for the rest of his life. It was draining. He had many restless nights and it showed. His complexion was blanched a permanent shade of white and his eyes remained forever glassy and tired. But humans have an amazing ability to adapt, and so he did. Soon enough the dreams no longer woke him panicked and grasping for the combat knife which he kept under his pillow. The incubuses slowly began to decrease in frequency until he was left with nothing more than a dreamless slumber; however, if he did dream it was always the same reoccurring nightmare.

This dream was no different. The scenes played with the familiarity of an old movie until he woke to the sound of blood pounding in his ears. The back of his head and his neck throbbed violently. He reflexively tried to nurse the pain with his right hand only to feel the cold bite of metal against his wrist.

"Huh?" he murmured. With heavy eyelids, Leon began to emerge from a bleary fog. "What?" he said, this time more alert as he tried to pull his wrists free from the binds. Leon was sitting in an upright position with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He attempted to move his feet only to find that he felt numb from the waist down. His lower appendages had gone to sleep, and as he tried to move them he was met with the painful sting of what felt like a thousand pinpricks.

Leon shifted slightly to feel that whatever was behind him was warm, fleshy, and snoring. He turned his head to look over his shoulder to find that the mysterious Spaniard from before was currently bound to him. "Hey!" he began in a hoarse whisper. "Hey? Wakeup!" He gently nudged against the man, pushing him forward slightly.

"Ugh," the Spaniard moaned as he began to come to. "Huh?" he hummed, frantically straightening his posture as he observed the darkened room.

"What's going on around here?" Leon demanded in a hushed voice.

The man gave a slight chuckle. "Tu Americano, si?"

Leon shot the man a suspicious over-the-shoulder stare. "Leon Kennedy, and you?"

"Luis Sera, former policia turned researcher. What about yourself?"

Leon thought carefully about his reply -- unsure if he should trust this man.

"Let me guess," Luis began before Leon had a chance to respond, "you're a cop, too?"

Leon clenched his jaws. "In a past life."

"_Really_?" The man sounded honestly surprised that he had guessed correctly. "So how long were you in for?"

A boyish grin thinned Leon's lips. "A day."

"What?" Luis exclaimed, far too amused for his own good. "A day? You're kidding?"

"Nope."

"Man, and I thought _I_ was _bad_. Must've been one _hell_ of a _day_ for you to quit after just one."

"You have _no idea_," Leon quipped as he tried to toy with the handcuffs.

"Hey, hey, hey! Watch it!" Luis cried, writhing back in pain.

"Sorry." Leon glanced down, noticing that his bomber jacket was missing. Reflexively, his heart skipped a beat and the muscles in his shoulders and back tightened at the discovery. His picture of Ashley had been in one of the jacket pockets. "Hey," he began apprehensively, "have you seen a girl around here? She's about 5 foot 2 inches, thin, and blonde. Her name is Ashley."

"Let me guess – she's the daughter of the President of the United States?"

Leon's eyes narrowed. "What do you know?"

Luis responded with a chuckle and shook his head playfully. "I'm just fucking with you, amigo. I overheard some of the villagers while I was stuffed in the armoire back in the house. They said they were moving her to the valley and then into some church to prepare her for the 'sacrifice'. Why do you care? You can't be telling me that the President of the U. S. sent only _one_ man after his own daughter!"

Leon pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Seems that way."

"Harsh --" Luis was cut off by the sound of the door to the room splintering apart as it was being hacked open.

"What the fuck?" Luis spat. Both men immediately turned their attention to the door as a bloodied hand reached through the newly created hole. Looping his arm through the hole, the crazed villager quickly grasped the door handle and unlocked it.

"Shit!" Leon muttered, violently shifting his weight backwards as he tried to inch toward the wall. Both pairs of legs slid against the dingy wooden floor as the men attempted to move back.

The villager threw open the door and slowly emerged from the menacing shadows hovering over the threshold. The man was covered in blood; half of his face had been severely damaged and was still spewing thick scarlet. He staggered forward a few paces. Bracing himself, he brought his axe upwards and prepared to strike.

"Do something, amigo!" Luis shouted frantically, scooting backwards.

"After you!" Leon yelped.

By a stroke of luck, as the two men instinctively tried to dodge away in separate directions the villager's wild strike landed against the two's handcuffs, freeing them. Clearly taken aback by this turn of events, the possessed villager stumbled back a few paces. Thinking fast on his feet, Leon swiftly performed a roundhouse kick, sending the man flying into a nearby wall. As the villager tumbled back to the ground, he stopped the floor with his neck, successfully snapping it. The bloated body heaved forward, dead.

Luis, clearly frightened by what had just happened, quickly scrambled to his feet before darting out the door. "Hey! Where are you going?" Leon called after him, but was quickly met with the sound of a door slamming.

Leon was about to rush out of the door in hot pursuit if he had not been halted by the beep of his PDA. As he reached into his pant pocket, Leon began brushing himself off only to realize that he had been stripped of all his artillery. '_Fucking wonderful_,' he thought bitterly to himself. It seemed that the only item the "chief" and his bandit of merry thugs had missed was his PDA and his combat knife.

"Leon here," he answered gruffly.

"Leon!" Hunnigan exclaimed.

At first he was taken aback as he stared into the screen. It was the first time she had used his first name. 'Something must be up,' he thought to himself.

"Leon, are you alright? Our last transmission was nearly 6 hours ago. What happened? Did you extricate the target?"

"Hold on there, Hunnigan. Don't get ahead of yourself. I have not located the subject _yet_; although, but have a hunch where the girl might be."

"Where?" she demanded.

"In a church just outside of the Valley. If I can reach it in time then maybe the girl stands a chance."

"Leon, you're just outside the Valley. Be careful!"

"As always. I'll contact you once I've reached the church. Leon out."


	5. Silent Shout

Silent Shout

Leon glanced down at his PDA for a moment, patiently waiting for his newly updated map to upload. Once it had finished loading, he quickly looked it over. Currently, he was stationed just outside of the much talked about "Valley". If the map was correct and there _was_ an underground waterway below the house he was currently occupying, he could wind his way back to Pueblo.

Placing a sweaty palm against the back of his neck, Leon breathed a frustrated sigh. _Where the fuck was the church?_ Glancing the screen over, he noticed a red flashing dot. "Good grief," he murmured, far from impressed. "So, basically all I have to do is _backtrack_ to Pueblo, find an underground tunnel located under some random house, run through a _cemetery,_ and ta-fucking-da I arrive at the church! What blind man and his horse made the blueprints for this town?"

Leon ran a nervous hand through his hair as he redirected his attention from the screen of his PDA to his surroundings. His first mode of action was to find some artillery. This place was crawling with hostiles, and he presently lacked the ability to protect himself much less the President's daughter. Leon quickly turned on his heels and bolted upstairs. Perhaps he would be lucky and find a cabinet stocked with rifles and ammo.

Upon reaching the second story, Leon found nothing. Resorting to checking underneath the upstairs beds, Leon still came up empty handed. 'This is _not_ good,' he thought to himself. At the very least, he had his combat knife. Leon knelt to the floor, folded up the bottom of his pant leg, and removed the blade from its sheath wrapped around his ankle. 'Thank God I brought _you_.' He gripped the knife tightly in his right hand before returning to the downstairs.

Taking a few steps forward, he glanced back down at the PDA. Leon quickly made his way into a small storage closet. "The tunnel should be somewhere around here," he said to himself as he scanned the darkened area.

In his attempt at searching for a light switch, Leon stumbled over a latch on the ground. "Oh… Here it is."

Snapping the PDA closed and replacing it, he kneeled down and swung the latch downwards. Pulling hard on the rusted iron handle, the top scraped heavily against the floor as he pushed it aside. Leon glanced down to see a small frail ladder provided his only means of getting down. Throwing caution and his better senses to the wind, Leon began his descent. Only a few steps in he was beginning to feel apprehension churn in his stomach. He was approximately fifteen feet above the ground when he heard the piercing roar of the metal giving away under him.

"Shit!" He quickly looked down to see the ladder was beginning to lean. Two sharp metallic "snaps" alerted Leon to the fact that the rest of the way was going entail falling. Within seconds of the harrowing echoes of metal snapping, Leon was met with the cold damp air against his body as he fell to the wet dingy floor.

Leon picked the upper portion body up from the floor, gasping for air. His right hand was at his neck as he fought to fill his lungs; his left hand was firmly placed in the slimy water which lined the gritty concrete. After inhaling a few ragged breaths, the sudden feeling of pain began to flood his senses.

'My leg!' his mind screamed.

His eyes instinctively followed the trail of pain running up and down his body. The side of his right leg had landed on an upright shard of glass; the glass was currently peeking through his pant leg and, more importantly, his calf. Upon seeing his leg impaled on the bloodied shard, Leon's eyes instinctively rolled back into his head as his facial features contorted into a grimace.

"What the hell?" He sat up and began nursing his leg from the glass. Blood quickly soaked his hands, the shard, and dyed the standing water lining the floor a deep shade of red. With tightened jaws and tensed muscles, he managed to free his leg.

Leon quickly tore a long shred of fabric from the bottom of his black short-sleeved shirt. He wrapped the dark fabric against the injury to help stop the bleeding before attempting to stand. Armless and now wounded… at the moment it seemed to Leon that a 5-year-old school girl stood a better chance of rescuing Ashley than he did.

Pulling himself up, Leon sucked up the pain and placed weight on the injured leg. Nothing was going to slow him down as he pressed forward -- walking with only a slight limp.

Trudging through the standing water with only the sounds of splashing to keep him company, Leon took a sharp right as the corridor terminated in a dead end. In front of him stood a large rocky wall with another ladder firmly in place in front of him. Leon repressed the urge to laugh or cry at the coincidence. It was times like these that he wished he had packed a grappling gun or _something_ of use.

Inhaling a sharp breath, Leon grasped the sides of the ladder and began his ascent. While the ladder squeaked and rattled under his weight, the trip up was not nearly as eventful as the previous trip down the last ladder.

Finally reaching the top, Leon found himself climbing out of a well. Grabbing the left side of the well, Leon managed to find footing on solid ground.

Tiredly, he felt his breathing accelerate as pangs of nausea overtook his stomach. His body was clearly having a negative reaction to the fall, and Leon was beaten down by his senses to take a short rest. Sliding down the stony wall of the well, he sat with his back braced against the stones. Feeling stomach acid slowly climb up his throat, he turned his head to the side, dry heaving. His stomach was empty and his body violently shook under the stress. Managing to collect himself, Leon ran the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping away the sweat that was running profusely down his face.

After taking a few deep breaths, he shakily returned to his feet. The moment he placed weight on his right leg, Leon buckled for a moment. The pain was still there. It was probably only going to get worse, he thought to himself. And, there were probably going to be many more injuries before this journey ended.

Stiffly, he took a few steps forward. Piercing blue eyes scanned the area to find a large house in front of him. This house was probably the most modern piece of architecture he had seen since he began his descent into _Hell_. Tightly closing his eyes, Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing the pressure building in the corners of his eyes. Walking into that house could mean certain death for him, but _not_ walking in when there could be armaments or some sort of first-aid kit, could also mean certain death.

With a firm grip on the handle of his combat knife, he trudged toward the foreboding house. He slowly limped up the stairs and then to the door before pulling the handle back. Much to his surprise, the door was unlocked as he shoved it open. With stealth and precision, he slowly entered the house.

Taking a left from the entryway, Leon was met with a large wooden door. Slowly pushing down the brass door-handle, his entrance was silent. His eyes quickly panned the area to find that he was inside a bedroom.

"Umm," he hummed to himself, trying to repress a smile. Sitting in plain sight on an otherwise nondescript desk was his trusty handgun with a clip stationed next to it. Leon quickly apprehended the gun and shoved in the clip. He glanced back down at the desk to see two pages lying next to where the gun and clip had been placed. The pages looked like they had been torn out of a journal. He picked them up to be met with sloppy Spanish handwriting.

'Times like these make wish that I had paid more attention during high school Spanish class…' He pulled his PDA out of his pocket, snapped a picture, and sent it off to HQ for translation. Leon replaced both the PDA and combat knife.

He had just pocketed the two pages when a soft "beep" coming from his PDA alerted him to the fact that his translation had been sent. He withdrew the PDA once more and opened the new message:

"_Lord Saddler has given an order to keep the American agent alive. _

_I do not understand why quite yet. _

_I also do not understand why Lord Saddler wanted to keep the agent confined with Sera. _

_It seems unlikely that Sera would pair with this American, but on the off-chance such a relationship were to occur it would surely be disastrous. _

_Perhaps Lord Saddler is worried about the rumors of the involvement of a third party and is setting a trap. _

_This unspecified third party could also wreak havoc for our plans… _

_All will be revealed in due time, I am sure." _

"A third party?" Leon's brows furrowed at the observation. "I wonder who it could possibly be?" he asked himself as he replaced the communicator. He brushed the thought aside and began to move towards the door opposite of the one had just entered. With a loaded gun pointed defensively toward the floorboards, Leon pressed his back to the wall. He placed a tentative hand to the handle of the door. He stayed his hand upon hearing the low murmur of Spanish voices beyond the door.

'You can do this,' he thought to himself when he heard the murmurs cease. 'You've been through worse scrapes than this.' Inhaling a lung-full of air, Leon twisted the handle and gently pushed it open before returning his right hand to the gun. A few moments elapsed before he made his move. Swiftly, he bolted through the door with gun raised as he scanned the empty hallway.

Finally exhaling the deep breath he had taken, he lowered his weapon. The adrenaline that had previously been coursing through his veins subsided, and his shoulders sloped as his muscles relaxed. Leon took a few steps forward before realizing that he had lulled himself into a false sense of security. Before he knew what had hit him, he could feel the cold bite of fingers lacing around his neck.

"No!" he yelped as he was yanked forward to meet his offender – Mendez.

Feeling the grasp tighten and the sensation of his feet leaving the floor, Leon struggled against the chokehold. Struggling to breathe, Leon squeezed his eyelids shut. It was not until he could feel the sensation of pressure beginning to build behind his eyes that he reopened them.

Leon's life was beginning to wane at his hands, and Mendez probably would have continued strangling the American if he had not caught a glimpse of Leon's eyes. The American's irises had turned a light shade of red as he struggled to breathe. Taken aback by this discovery, Mendez buckled and took a step back. Unintentionally, he sent Leon skidding across the floorboards.

"You carry our blood?!" Mendez said to himself, astonished before returning his attention back to Leon. "You are granted _permission_ to live… _for now. _If you cross any lines, American, you will be killed," he growled while pointing dramatically at Leon.

Leon watched from his position writhing on the floor as the man disappeared behind some door. His mouth was still agape as he gasped for air. He had just managed to fill his lungs when he heard the annoying "beep" that only his PDA made.

Sitting up, jaw clenched, and face drained of all color, Leon picked up. He did not look happy. "Hunnigan," he said in a deep throaty voice.

"Kennedy, you _do not_ look well. What's your status?"

'_Not well_ is my fucking status,' was what he _wanted_ to tell her. "I had a brush with the head honcho again. It was not pretty. He said something about me having the same blood as them. Whatever that means…"

Hunnigan pensively pressed her top lip against her bottom lip. "Who is this 'Lord Saddler' person?"

Leon subtly rolled his eyes; his gaze fell to the wall in front of him. Immediately upon noticing a large portrait, his eyes narrowed and he scrambled to his feet.

"What did you see, Kennedy?"

Silently, he stalked over to the canvas depicting a ghostly shell of a man draped in ceremonial robes. Under the portrait was a metallic name plate reading, "Our blessed Lord Osmund Saddler."

"I think I just found a picture of Osmund Saddler."

"What does he look like?" Hunnigan asked, her voice nearing excitation.

"Have you ever seen those _Star Wars _movies?"

"Yeah. Kennedy, what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Remember what the Emperor looked like?" he continued, his eyes still searching the picture.

"Yeah? Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Picture the Emperor and you've got Saddler… only worse."

"Let me see what you're looking at!" She had just edged over her frustration limit with Leon.

Leon complied and flashed the lens of his communicator in the direction of the portrait.

"You're right. He _does_ look like the Emperor."

Leon repressed the urge to smile at her observation. "I'm thinking Saddler is the head of this freak-fest."

"I'll run an intel check. Osmund Saddler, correct?"

"Yep."

"Good luck, Kennedy. This is Ingrid Hunnigan signing off." The screen went black, and Leon pulled up the map again. If he took the side exit of the house, he would be heading straight toward Pueblo… again. He grimaced at the thought of returning to that village before stuffing the communicator into his back pocket.

Having become personally acquainted with the upstairs corridor of the house, Leon turned to the door to his left. If he remembered correctly, he had seen Mendez wander into the room just beyond the door. He pressed his lips together, gripped his gun tightly in his hands, and kicked the door open. Instinctively he raised his gun and fired a wild shot once he saw the man. The bullet careened into another picture of the cult leader, and Mendez's fist careened into Leon's face. The impact sent Leon flying into a nearby wall. He landed in a heap on the floor.

Mendez smiled grimly as he approached the fallen American. By the time he had reached Leon, Leon had rolled over on his back, breathing raggedly. Mendez took this opportunity to pin the American to the floor with his foot.

Leon glanced up to find the strange Spaniard was smiling madly down at him. Leon tried to struggle to regain control to no avail. Bracing for fate uncertain, he clenched his eyes shut, half preparing for death half preparing for a miracle. Leon was a lucky man, though.

Just before Mendez had the chance to bear down upon the American, the cracking of glass and sounding of bullets broke the silence that had blanketed the room. Leon opened an eye to see Mendez remove his foot as he turned to get a look at his attacker. A menacing growl escaped from his throat as he bolted toward the window.

Leon propped himself up on his arms and cocked his head to the side just in time the catch a glimpse of his savior. A whirl of red, bullets, and curves was all he could see as the woman disappeared thanks to her grappling gun. Mendez jumped out of the window in hot pursuit of the "third party".

"Ada?" Leon stood vexed. "It can't be. I must have taken a harder fall than I thought," he said nursing the bump throbbing at the back of his head.

Brushing the thought aside for the moment, Leon spotted his gun and reached down to retrieve it. Right now, his only goal was to find Ashley and get her to safety. He had not been sent to figure out what exactly was happening. Leon kept trying to remind himself of that little fact…


	6. Gravedigger

Gravedigger

The adrenaline that had been coursing through Leon's veins during his skirmish with Mendez was now slowly subsiding. As a side effect, he was now beginning to feel the throbbing pain burning from his wounded right leg with a vengeance as he moved out of the bedroom. Cringing at the sharp pangs trailing up and down his affected appendage, Leon hunched over and felt for the makeshift tourniquet he had tied around his calf. He could feel the black material was wet to the touch with blood as he readjusted the tie.

Swallowing the pain like it was bitter medicine, Leon straightened to his full height and pressed onward into the corridor. Perhaps if he was lucky he would find a first aid kit… if such a thing existed in such a rural place.

With every step, he added more and more weight to the injured leg. This technique provided him some comfort; however, he could not help but think that if he did not find some antiseptic soon infection would set in, and then where would he be?

Locating the staircase, Leon quickly made it down to the floor level of the house, specifically the dining room. To his left was the kitchen and to his right was the foyer. Turning to look to his right for a moment, he noticed a nondescript door tucked inside a small alcove a few feet behind him. Tempted to explore the area in search of medication, Leon paused short of the door; a cautious hand rested securely on the brass door handle. Slowly, he began applying downward pressure to the handle as he gently nudged the door open so as not to make a sound. With the door only open a sliver, Leon managed to get an eyeful of the corridor. All seemed clear, he thought to himself as he shoved the door the rest of the way open. The force he applied to the door caused it to swing into the wall behind it, creating a loud crackling thud.

Leon swiftly made his way into the only room down the hall, which, fortunate for him, was a washroom. The moment he entered the darkened area, his hand searched for the light switch against the wall. Once he located the switch, he flipped it upwards and to his delight the light fixture above him illuminated the room.

'That's one in a row,' he thought to himself as he looked the area over. In front of him, above the sink, was a medicine cabinet. Leon instantly reached forward; his filthy, blood-stained hands yanking it open. "Thank God," he sighed, seeing that the cabinet was fully stocked with bandages, alcohol, peroxide, antibacterial cream, and iodine.

Grabbing the alcohol, iodine, and a washcloth from the shelf, Leon hurriedly flipped the cover of the toilet down and placed his right foot on it. He, then, proceeded to fold his pant leg up to just below his knee. For a moment he stood fixated on the wound – the flesh appeared reddened, agitated, and caked in dried blood. A small shiver bit its way down his spine, prompting Leon to make haste.

With swift and purposeful movements, he cleaned the wound, applied as much antiseptic as he could withstand before wrapping his leg tightly with one of the long cloth bandages he found in the cabinet. After tying the bandage firmly in place, Leon placed his elevated foot back on the floor as he rummaged through the cabinet looking for painkillers or, at the very least, a bottle of aspirin. On finding the latter, he quickly broke open the cap and downed 4 of the pills with one gulp before mindlessly replacing the bottle. Feeling mildly rejuvenated, Leon stepped out of the bathroom and into the corridor leading to the front of the house. From there he exited the house from the side door located near the kitchen.

The moment he stepped outside and into the humid autumn air, Leon panned his new environment. All he could see was an old dilapidated house positioned on a bend to his left. He stood in place for a moment – partly to familiarize himself with the scenery, and partly out of self-preservation.

Faint calls of Spanish and a distinct hum of a chainsaw alerted him to the fact that villagers were closer than he would like. Instinctively, he withdrew his handgun from its place in his holster, and held it defensively in front of him – arms bent upwards and an iron tight grip on the weapon.

Leon inched forwards, careful to step lightly as he continued to survey the area. As soon as he neared the decrepit old house, he placed his back to the side of it and began to sidestep to the corner of the edifice. Once there, he turned his head so he could peer from around the corner. Around the bend he could see a long dirt road stretching down across the hilly terrain and into a wooded area. Beyond the wooded area, according to the map, was Pueblo. He cringed at the thought of having to return to that village again considering his last escapade… To his surprise, however, Leon did not see any villagers as he scanned the area. He heard them, and he still heard the whine of a chainsaw at work.

Shaking his head tiredly, he let out a sigh. "Maybe I'm just losing it?" he muttered to himself. "Is it getting louder?" he added, referring to the noise coming from the chainsaw. "No, can't be…" Leon advanced a few steps forward, removing his weight abruptly from the decaying house; this sudden shift in weight caused the house to creak and roar. His eyes widened at the sound, and he directed his gaze upward.

"Shit!" he yelped, barely maneuvering in time to miss the avalanche of decay, wood, and shingles that was sliding off the roof.

Leon had hardly enough time to catch his breath when he heard the loud roar of a chainsaw sounding from behind him. Letting a wild bullet rip through the air as he turned to meet the sound, he quickly ducked out of the way of an oncoming attack.

"What the…?" he said lowly under his breath. He had seen a lot of very fucked up things in his mere 27 years, but he had to say this was a first – being attacked by a crazed villager holding a chainsaw. Deciding to let his trigger finger do the talking, he sent a few well placed shots careening into the hostile's head.

"Huh?" he choked out, not believing that the _thing_ wasn't on the ground writhing in pain. The three shots to the head had only managed to stun the man – sending him backwards a few steps, clutching his forehead. "Unbelievable," he spat before taking advantage of the situation, and making haste past the villager. Leon had to conserve ammo, and if three bullets to the chainsaw-man's head wasn't enough to put a dent in his pursuit, than he much doubted three more would land the villager dead.

He had made it a yard or so away from where the altercation had taken place before he glanced behind him. The villager with the chainsaw had his attention on Leon as he shook off the sting of three headshots. With a victorious cry, the crazed man sprinted down the hill after Leon.

"Dammit!" Leon murmured acrimoniously. He was just beginning to pick up his pace when he felt a sharp crack scream from his right leg. Just before he had the time to mentally assess the situation, he felt his leg give from under him, and he tumbled down to the cold dirt road below.

Before Leon had the chance to reopen his eyes from the trauma, he heard the loud shattering of glass and felt a few shards pelt him. Glancing up, he saw that his inconvenient fall had probably saved him from the chokehold of a very sickly looking village woman who had come crashing out of a shack window. Readjusting his grip on his gun, Leon swiftly fixed his aim on the woman. With one shot, he blew out her throat. A terrified look took hold of her features before she collapsed – dead – out of the window.

There was little time for rejoicing, Leon realized, as tried to lock onto the Chainsaw Man's position. "Shit!" he snapped, quickly drawing to his feet, and not a moment too soon. He had just enough time to evade one swipe of the blade. Unfortunately, as he did so, his gun went flying into the nearby brush. Eyeing the shine of his pistol, Leon knew it would be foolish to try and hunt for it _now_. Instead, he hastily ducked into the shack once inhabited by the village woman.

Frantically examining the area for any tools to aide him in his plight, Leon spotted only a spade. Without giving it much thought, he quickly grasped the tool in his hands. 'You can make this work,' he thought to himself. The aforementioned thought, however, was quickly pushed to the back of his mind and filed under, "Delusions of Grandeur," the moment he saw the chainsaw ripping through the boards of the wooden door.

Glancing down at the shovel in his hands and the dull rounded blade at its end, Leon grimaced. It was going to take some fancy footwork and instincts in order to incapacitate this guy. The instincts he had; the footwork? Well, he had a foot with which to work…

The moment the crazed villager had decimated the shack door with his chainsaw, Leon greeted him with a hard smack to the head. In hindsight, his mode of action probably was not the most prudent considering as soon as he withdrew the metal part of the spade, it broke in half. "_Wonderful_," he sighed aloud before quickly exiting through the shack's broken window.

Nervously, Leon shifted his attention back and forth between the disoriented Chainsaw Man, and where he had lost his gun. Part of him wanted to reclaim his gun; the other part of wanted to take advantage of the situation while he still could. He tensed his muscles and rammed the jagged end of his spade into the man's back, sending him into the back of the shack wall.

Leon's eyes widened the moment he saw blood begin to stain the back of the man's white shirt. "Huh?" he hummed in disbelief as he watched the crazed villager begin to slide to the floor. "What happened?" he questioned, slowly stepping across the threshold of the shack. Keeping his gaze fixed on the Chainsaw Man, he watched the villager writhe on the floor before rolling over in a supine position. Between the flailing of arms and legs, Leon's view of the chainsaw had been obstructed; although, he still heard the machine's now faint rumbling. With the villager lying face up, he saw what had been the cause behind the villager's death – his own chainsaw. Apparently, when Leon had shoved the man into the wall, the man had landed wrongly against his own weapon.

Leon slowly back-stepped out of the shack, not wanting to press his luck any further. He turned on his heels and trotted toward the area where he had seen the shine of his gun. It took no time for him spot and pluck his pistol from the foliage. Exhaling deeply and turning a wary eye to the path in front of him, Leon continued on his way to Pueblo.

Silence draped over him as he wound his way down the path. It was the same silence he had only a few hours before found so loathsome, now, he now found it comforting. The only sounds piercing the stillness were the caws coming from the ravens inhabiting the woods leading to Pueblo. Glancing skyward to see if he could spot the birds making all the racket, Leon took note of the faltering sun. 'That means by the time I make it to the cemetery it will be dusk,' he thought miserably to himself.

His walk to Pueblo was uneventful, and he relished his few moments of aloneness. His short walk into the woods was quickly blocked by a rickety old gate locked only by a small piece of tied rope. Kneeling down, Leon withdrew his combat knife and made quick work of the tie before shoving the gate door open. 'Easy enough,' he mused before proceeding into the outskirts of Pueblo.

Again, his senses were alerted by the sound of Spanish in the distance. Straightening at the prospect of encountering _more_ villagers, Leon took a few more steps before hiding himself behind a large tree. Scouring the area with a penetrating eye, he braced his weight against the tree trunk as he watched the unsuspecting townspeople.

Reaching back into his jean pocket, he fished out his PDA and scrolled down to activate the map. 'Where am I? Where am I?' he thought silently to himself as he scanned the screen. 'I'm here, and the house is? To my left. Directly to my left.' He perked up at the thought. The house he needed to break into was close enough to his position that with enough stealth he could easy infiltrate it without alerting any of the surrounding hostiles.

Leon assessed the pathway leading into the village; it was lined with a fence on both sides, meaning it would be a straight shot into Pueblo with no room to maneuver around. Checking the left fence, Leon was sure he could see a missing board. Certain he could manage around it quietly enough so he could wind his way to the cabin on his left, he started down the path.

Nearing the broken part of the fence, Leon examined it. The bottom two slats were missing, he observed. If he crouched down low enough, he was sure he could crawl under the fence and then he'd be home free.

Taking care not to aggravate his injured leg further, he carefully squatted down low to the ground. Eyeing the fence, he slinked under the lowest board soundlessly. On the other side of the fence, he planted his left leg firmly on the ground while he gently pulled his injured leg from under the fence. It took some doing, he had to admit, but he was only five yards from his destination and none of villagers had been alerted by his presence.

Creeping at a slow and steady pace, Leon examined the cabin in front of him. He was currently facing its side and could see part of the cabin's porch and a window from his angle. If he were a betting man, Leon would guess that the front door would be locked, and he didn't have the key. Blowing the lock or the hinges off the door would broadcast his presence. Glancing back at his other mode of entry – the side window – Leon decided to try it first. If at worse he had to break it open, the side entry was not being protected by any of the villagers. While the shattering of glass would alert them to an intruder, he could probably buy enough time to find the underground tunnel and be out of sight before the villagers began swarming the cabin.

Ever cautious, Leon reached the window and gently tapped it before trying to open it. To his utter amusement, the glass budged, allowing him enough access to climb over, which he did. He landed soundlessly on the wooden floorboards, and quietly listened for any noise. Satisfied, he skulked forward from the dining room and toward the door leading into a corridor. Once in the corridor, he approached the closed door opposite of him. Opening it revealed a small empty room with a storm lamp hanging motionlessly from the ceiling.

Glancing down at the floorboards, Leon noticed a small handcrafted rug and removed it. Under where the rug had been was the door leading to what was presumably the tunnel. Leon popped the latch and hopped down into the darkness below.

The plummet to the bottom of the dank watery floor was short, and Leon swiftly collected himself. Trudging through the underground tunnel lit only by dying storm lamps seemed to take forever. The tunnel was quiet save for the few sounds of water droplets falling from above or the sound Leon was making as he moved forward. When he reached the end, he was met with a sturdy ladder leading up through a well.

'This all has a familiar feel,' he thought to himself bitterly, remembering his last brush in with a ladder. Despite his hesitance, Leon began his ascent and stepped out of the well. Once again on solid footing, he scrutinized his surroundings. Perched atop a hill only a short distance away stood the foreboding "Church". In front of the church was the cemetery.

Leon gazed up at the sky. The sun had set and now the shadows of nightfall were quickly consuming any remnants of light. 'Trying to navigate this place during broad daylight is hard enough…' Snorting a sigh, he continued forward a few yards before stopping short of a small shed and hiding himself the moment he saw movement in his periphery.

Tucking himself further into the darkness of the shed, Leon stared out to see a gravedigger and a small apprentice working the cemetery by lamplight. The two were in perfect range, he thought, as he raised his gun and aimed.

Two shots were all that were needed to disable the two long enough for Leon to emerge from his hiding place and sprint towards the church. 'Careful, Leon,' he kept repeating to himself as he navigated the graves, 'if you're not careful, you'll wind up 6 feet under.' His sentiments were quite literal as seeing one false move would send him falling into a freshly dug hole.

Once he was within arm's length of the church door, Leon clenched the door handles with both hands. The handles felt cool against his hot sweaty palms but they also felt stuck as he tore at them. "Locked?!" he exclaimed, glancing down to find a small keyhole. Frustrated, angry, and frantic to find a way in, Leon gripped his gun in his hand and aimed it at the lock. Two shots were all it took, and he flung open the double doors and scrambled into the church. The moment he was in, Leon raced to grab a long ornamental candlestick to brace the door against any of the crazed villagers.

Taking note of the pews, alter, and large yellow, blue, red, and green mosaic depicting a strange symbol, Leon caught sight of a door hidden in shadow and rushed toward it. Flinging the oak door open, he frantically climbed the stairs and searched the upper area of the church. The only door in the area was on his left, and thus Leon quickly turned the doorknob and slowly nudged it open, gun prepared for the worst.

The moment he could see into the room, he saw something run fluidly, smoothly from the corner of his eye. "Ashley!" he exclaimed, seeing the young 20 year old duck behind some barrels.

"Stay away!" she shrieked, throwing a piece of wood at him.

Leon easily moved out of the projectile's way. "Hey, calm down!" He placed his gun in its holster so as to appear less threatening as he neared the girl.

The closer he neared, the cagier she became. He was within arm's reach before her nerves got the better of her and she darted toward the other side of the room. "Leave me alone!"

Catching her arm effortlessly as she ran past him, Leon steadied her. "I'm here on the order of the President of the United States to rescue you," he stated, trying to sound soothing, but falling short.

"What?" Her eyes searched his to determine the validity of his statement. "My father?"

Leon's eyes became less pained, less angry, and more comforting as he looked down at her. "Yes, I've been sent by your father." A slight smile parted his lips. "Now, let's get out of here," he said, releasing his firm grip on her arm and taking a step toward the door. His second step was hindered when he felt the coolness of her hand against his as she grabbed hold of it. A sidelong glance on Leon's part confirmed his suspicion that Ashley was indeed terrified.

He had just placed a hand to the doorknob when the ever annoying beep that only his PDA made caught him off guard. Reaching into his back pocket, Leon pulled out the device. "Leon here."

"Leon, it's been a while since our last transmission. Have you managed to locate the church?" Hunnigan asked in her usual stoic tone.

"Better than that, I've located Ashley. We're on our way out of the church."

"How is she?" A tinge of worriment stained Hunnigan's normally impassive features.

"I don't know," he replied, honestly.

"You _don't know_?" her voice scrutinized. "Well, ask her!"

"Ashley, how are you feeling?" his voice softened as he turned his attention to the girl.

"Okay," she answered in a less than convincing tone.

"Be careful, Kennedy!" Hunnigan said, obviously having overheard Ashley's status. "I'm sending a helicopter over. To get to the rendezvous point, take the left trail out of the village."

"Thanks," Leon said, finger poised over the "disconnect" button.

"Hunnigan out."

Leon quickly replaced his PDA and began out of the door with Ashley still clasping his hand in hers.


End file.
